Mark, Tate and I made the trip to Indiana to spend time with my dad and family for the Thanksgiving holiday. It was such a wonderful visit filled with introducing Tate to some of his doting maternal relatives, relaxing, and feeling very thankful for all we have. The usual 7-hour trip there was stretched to 9, due to holiday traffic and stops to feed Tate (I now intimately know some new parking lots!), yet Tate didn't cry...NOT ONCE. He slept most of the way and when he was awake, he sat and looked around in wonder.
When I wasn't sitting there in shock at how amazing my baby is, I spent a lot of time on the trip thinking about how extremely blessed I am to live the life I'm living. I thought about how many people don't have family to visit, or don't even like the family they are "forced" to be with on holidays. Here we were, a happy, new family in the car on the way to see relatives that we love and like very much, while leaving behind two other units of family (my mom's side and Mark's family) that we appreciate, love and would miss a lot that weekend. I don't know much, but I do know there isn't much more we can ask for than this.
Upon returning home, we instantly all got sick with colds. Poor little Tate was smiling through the coughing, sneezing and raspy breathing, while I sat there cursing my sore throat. I went to work on Monday anyway, only to get a frantic call from my mom - who graciously watches Tate several days a week for us - that afternoon saying my sweet boy was projectile vomiting and that I should call the doctor and come home as soon as possible. I can tell you with no uncertainty that I've never run to my car so fast in all my life. I knew he was fine overall, but I couldn't bear the thought of him suffering without his mama. As I was pulling out of the parking ramp, there was a car stopped right where I needed to turn; I didn't think twice before accidentally squealing around the car...only to see it was inhabited by two elderly nuns who looked a bit confused as to where they were. New revelation: a sick 10.5-week-old will cause a hurried, new mama to scare sweet little old women of the cloth. AWESOME.
We were able to get into the doctor's office without an appointment, to learn that poor little Tate not only had a cold but also a bug that would later also result in green bile-laden diaper changes. Tate showed a bit of improvement that night, so I felt relieved that he was on the mend. The next morning while eating breakfast and getting ready for work, however, I got to witness the projectile action for myself. Heart racing, I dropped my yogurt on the floor in my haste to get to him. I don't think I need to tell you that I didn't go to work. I instead spent the entire day holding and feeding my boy, knowing that while I had plenty I could have been doing at work, there was nowhere I needed to be more than with him.
Tate is doing much better today, and I'm feeling very grateful that he is usually a very healthy, happy baby - so many people deal with much scarier realities than the one I dealt with this week. Still, I'm realizing more every day that having a child changes everything. And you know what? I'm thankful for that most of all.